Sitric's Kingdom

In Sitric’s kingdom our games were simple: 

Spin-the bottle, Blind-man’s buff.  

Every night behind the infirmary

the sun went down but never in a hurry. 

That’s where I wore my sheriff’s star,                  

my Robin-of-Sherwood hat, where I saw the hearse

and funeral car taking forever to pass,

heard carols at Christmas in the Church of St Nicholas  

and great bells that shook our window

on the world of trader, merchant, 

brewery men delivering stout; 

the god of repairs who could mend and fix,

The midwife, too, who lost count

of cries she heard for mother’s milk. 

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